


The (Custody) Battle of Pennsylvania

by sheyrenawyrsabane



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Body Swap, Claude is a smart aleck, Jack and Connor just want someone to help them, M/M, Sidney is very disgruntled, Throw pillows - made for throwing, it's in the name
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-25
Updated: 2018-04-25
Packaged: 2019-04-28 00:21:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14437389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheyrenawyrsabane/pseuds/sheyrenawyrsabane
Summary: How come whenever the kids are a mess they're Sid's? Oh right, because Giroux is useless.The one where Jack and Connor switch bodies and it's up to Sid (and Giroux) to fix them.





	The (Custody) Battle of Pennsylvania

Like the rest of the hockey world, Sidney doesn’t have an inkling that anything is wrong until Connor McDavid tweets  _ Tyler Seguin is my role model #GoodCanadianBoy _ . In a span of three minutes, Sid has five texts and two phone calls. He ignores them all and does some digging. 

The tweet on its own isn’t that bad. It’s a typical teammate prank--Connor’s too smart to tweet something like that himself even if it’s obvious that he isn’t smart enough to keep his teammates away from his phone. But then Sid sees Connor’s latest interview. He stands with his hip cocked to the side, and Hallsy jumps in to cut the interview short.

Eichel’s latest Instagram post is him grinning, his hair adorned with clips and bows and scrunchies. Sidney pinches the bridge of his nose.

Then he makes a phone call.

“Your little clone stepped out of line. I didn’t realize his programming allowed for that.”

“You’re still an asshole, but I need you to call Eichel’s phone.”

“Just his phone? And why would I have his number?”

“Because Connor’s going to pick up, Couturier and Gostisbehere played with him at the World Cup. I’m sure you could get his number.”

“So could you.”

Sidney takes a deep breath. The last thing the NHL needs is for him and Giroux to Switch again.

“Calm down, I can hear you stress breathing over this this. I’ll call and talk to McDavid. It should be easy for him to lie low. How long until we can get them in the same room?”

When Giroux makes an effort, he’s actually a decent human being. That’s probably what pisses Sid off the most. Why can’t he make the effort most of the time?

Sid pulls up the game schedules for Buffalo and Edmonton. “Fuck.”

#

They end up on a conference call, the two of them, Connor, and Eichel. Sid also has a Skype session open with Giroux so they can make faces at each other while they talk to the kids.

“So,” Sid says to get things started. “You swapped bodies.”

“Yeah,” Connor says. “Why don’t you sound surprised?”

“Wait, this is a  _ thing _ ?” Eichel demands. It’s weird hearing Connor’s voice that forceful.

“Yes, and we’ll explain more once we get the two of you in the same place and we can fix you.”

“You and Claude Giroux?” Eichel asks.

“The power of friendship will save the day,” Giroux deadpans.

Sid cracks a smile and immediately regrets the video chat, because Giroux knows he made Sid smile and now he’s smirking.

“We can help, but we need you in the same place.”

“I’ll book a flight right now,” Eichel says. “We can miss a game.”

“No, you can’t.” Connor sounds timid, soft, something that sounds odd in Eichel’s voice. “We play Philly next. It’s the first time since my collarbone.”

“Fuck,” Eichel says. “I guess you can’t be sick either. I have to play as you.”

“That’s weird. Sid, is there anything we can do over the phone?”

“Not to swap back but you should talk. The prank pictures were fun, but now you have to get serious. You have the power to ruin each other’s lives.”

“Fucking hell, Crosby,” Giroux says.

“I thought you didn’t want to be on this phone call?” Sid snaps.

Giroux sticks his tongue out.

Sid takes a deep breath. “Are you two good?”

“We don’t need supervision,” Eichel bitches.

Sid takes that as his cue to hang up. He deliberates for a moment before he calls Hallsy.

“Sid?” Hallsy sounds surprised, but it’s a forced surprise. “Is this about Davo’s tweet?”

“It’s about Eichel’s.” Sid smiles as Hallsy falls deathly silent. “You weren’t going to say anything?”

“I had it under control.”

“You know I could help.” Probably everyone who’s ever played for Team Canada knows.

“I thought we didn’t talk about it.”

Sid pinches the bridge of his nose. Was he ever this stupid? He likes to think he wasn’t. He takes another deep breath. “If this ever happens again you can call me.”

“Cool. Thanks!”

Hallsy hangs up and Sidney leans back against his headboard. His hand flexes around his phone. He misses his flip phone with a sharp, sudden ache. He wouldn’t hesitate to chuck that across the room. Connor and Eichel Switched and no one thought to tell anyone about it. And they clearly didn’t even tell the kids to lay low and pretend. 

“Is that your disappointed face? It looks like you’re regretting a second burrito.”

Sid startles and knocks his laptop off his bed. A diving catch saves it before it hits the ground.

“Woah, warn a guy,” Giroux complains. “I think I might be seasick.”

“Asshole,” Sid mutters. He puts his laptop safely on his nightstand. “What’re you still doing here?”

“You forgot about me? That hurts.”

Sidney has a reputation as a  _ Good Canadian Boy _ , bland and boring as drying paint. At first, it was a defense mechanism. And now, well, it still kind of is. Giroux’s always been able to make him snap, though. He starts to take a deep breath then stops because Giroux will just laugh at him.

The other man’s smirk says Sid’s been caught. 

“Fuck off.” He runs a hand through his hair. “We should talk about your game against Edmonton.”

“The kids are gone. You can drop the lecture voice.”

“Take this seriously,” Sidney says.

Giroux hangs up.

Fucking typical.

#

Geno catches Sid before practice. He raises his eyebrows. Sidney nods. They turn to go to their respective stalls.

“What the hell?” Phil asks.

“You get used to it,” Tanger says. “Are we going out tonight?”

“I’m watching the Oilers game,” Sidney answers.

“Is this about McDavid’s Twitter meltdown? I didn’t realize he had the balls to do something like that. Especially with Chiarelli in Edmonton now,” Tanger says. 

“It should be a good game,” Sid answers neutrally. He’s sent Giroux three texts reminding him not to be stupid tonight. After the second, Giroux sent back a picture of him from the waist down in a pair of worn sweatpants. After the third, he sent a picture just in his boxers.

Sid doesn’t send a fourth.

#

The team piles into Sid’s house for the game. It’s a good thing he has an entertainment room with enough space for them all. As soon as they settle in for the game, Sid wishes he was on his own. Watching Eichel warm up in Connor’s body is weird, and it brings up memories he’s done his best to suppress.

He and Giroux Switched at Worlds. Sid never had to play a game in his body, but they did practice. It was weird and uncomfortable and cut short as soon as Coach figured out something was wrong.

Despite the stupid tweet, Connor and Eichel have done a good job keeping this on the down low. Eichel doesn’t skate like McDavid, but it isn’t obvious unless you look for it. They’ll play and the whole thing will be dismissed as an oddity then forgotten except for the occasional, “Hey remember when…?”

It’ll be fine.

#

It’s not fine. 

The Flyers are running Eichel every chance they get. If it was Connor, he’d just grit his teeth. But this is Eichel, and Sid watches his gaze harden with each hit he takes. He looks at each player who runs him as if he’s taking notes. 

For now, Eichel seems to be holding it together though. He lingers after some of the worst hits as if he’s thinking about throwing down, but he skates away before it gets ugly. 

Then Manning slams him into the boards. He pins him there and says something. Eichel stiffens then shoves off the glass. He shakes his gloves off and punches Manning in the face. His head snaps back. He recovers, hauling Eichel away from their teams. It’s his turn to throw a punch.

Eichel takes it then gives it back just as good. That seems to wake everyone else up. Oilers grab the closest Flyer and the officials try to separate everyone. A Flyer angles his fight so the officials can’t reach Manning. But if he was hoping for Connor to get his face bashed in as a result of the delay then he’ll be disappointed.

Connor--Eichel--throws two quick punches then wrestles Manning to the ground. He draws his fist back as if he wants to keep going. The officials finally break through and pull him off. 

The Philly crowd howls as the camera zooms in on his face, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. 

Manning looks worse.

“Holy shit,” Tanger says.

Sidney stands up and walks out of the den. He goes to his study because the walls are soundproof. A touch of a button and Giroux’s phone rings. And rings. Sid’s temper doesn’t cool any as he waits for the voicemail to click on.

“You had one job!” he explodes. “One! You--: he sucks in a breath and hangs up. “Fuck.” He slams his hand against his desk. “ _ Fuck _ .”

The door opens. Only one person wouldn’t knock when he clearly wants space. He glares at Geno.

Geno rolls his eyes. “McDavid doesn’t fight like that.”

“He doesn’t.”

Geno crosses his arms over his chest, unimpressed. “You fix?”

“I’m working on it.”

“Tonight.” Geno tosses him his car keys.

“Ugh, fine. I have a few more phone calls to make. Can you cover for me with the guys?”

“Yes.” Geno hesitates, hand on the doorknob. “Could’ve helped.”

“You don’t like to talk about it. And I had help. Even if he’s turned out to be  _ useless _ .”

Geno grins, looking more like himself. “Don’t come back with hickey.”

Sid flips him off.

Once he’s on his own again, he calls Giroux back to say they’re doing it tonight. Then he calls Connor and tells him to book a ticket to Philadelphia.

#

Sidney listens to sports radio on the drive. The broadcasters argue over whether McDavid should be applauded for standing up for himself or if the rest of the Oilers should be criticized for not fighting for him.

“Well, one thing’s for sure. He’s no Sidney Crosby.”

Sid switches the station. The only other thing to listen to is country music, and Sid’s in a truly foul mood by the time he pulls into the arrivals lane. Connor climbs into the passenger seat. It’s weird to see Eichel’s body hunch like that.

“Country music is shit,” Sid says.

A tiny smile tugs at Connor’s lips. He connects his phone to Sidney’s car.

Dubstep is shitty too.

#

They pull into Giroux’s driveway. 

“You didn’t use a GPS,” Davo says. He picks at the muffin he bought when Sid, under duress, stopped at a WaWa.

Sid strides up to the door. Connor drags his feet which means Sid has to hold the door open for him.

“We’re in the living room,” Giroux calls.

Sid leads Connor through the dining room and into living room. He can feel Connor’s heavy stare on him. He doesn’t gather the courage to ask any of his questions which Sid’s grateful for. Giroux and Eichel are already in the room. Giroux’s on the couch. Eichel’s in one of the armchairs, his feet planted on the floor as if he’s a moment away from springing to his feet. His, or rather Connor’s, face is bruised.

“I’ll get an ice pack,” Sid says. He shoots Giroux a look as if to say  _ why haven’t you already gotten him one? _

“You enjoy mother henning,” Giroux says.

Sid stalks into the kitchen. He returns with an ice pack wrapped in a towel and hands it to Eichel.

“You know your way around,” Eichel says.

Connor’s taken the other armchair which gives Sid the choice of the couch next to Giroux or the loveseat. It would be ridiculous to sit alone but he knows he’ll regret sitting next to Giroux.

“Cluck cluck,” Giroux says.

Sid hits him in the face with a throw pillow and sits next to him.

“What was that for?” Giroux demands. He lifts a pillow as if he’s going to whack Sid back.

Connor clears his throat. “Can we figure this out?”

“How did it even happen?” Eichel asks.

“Well,” Giroux drawls. “Sometimes, when two people hate each other very, very much, the universe conspires to make them get over it.”

Sid hits Giroux with the pillow again.

“You’ve lost your pillow privileges.” Giroux grabs the pillow and tries to rip it out of Sid’s hands.

“This has happened to other people,” Connor says.

Sid wraps his arms around his pillow to protect it. He has a feeling he’ll need it again.

“Malkin and Ovechkin?” Eichel asks.

Sid hesitates, because it’s their business, but Giroux says, “Duh. Do you really think they went from punching each other’s agents in nightclubs to being BFFs without some help?”

“But why us?” Connor asks. “We’re not on the same team--in the NHL or internationally.”

“We don’t know everything,” Giroux says.

“So it happened to you too,” Connor says. He looks at Sid. “We can fix it then?”

“Yes.”

Eichel huffs, “How?”

Giroux smirks. “How are all curses lifted?” He puckers his lips then laughs at the horrified looks on Eichel and Connor’s faces.

“You two?” Connor’s staring at Sid, eyes wide.

“It’s how you Switch back,” Sid answers.

“No one’s saying you have to use tongue,” Giroux says. “But if that’s what you want then go for it. We’ll even turn our backs for privacy. Well, I will. Crosby might look for some tips.” Dropping his voice to a loud whisper, he adds, “It wasn’t very good.”

_ Don’t rise to the bait,  _ Sid tells himself.  _ Don’t give him what he wants.  _ “It was your mouth!”

“Excuses, excuses.”

Sid’s tempted to punch him or kiss him. Aware of their audience, he does neither. He takes a deep breath and Giroux laughs, knowing he’s gotten under Sidney’s skin.

“You fought for me,” Connor says, quiet, a hesitancy in his tone that sounds odd coming out of Eichel’s mouth.

“Didn’t even break your hand. Busted up your face a bit though.”

Connor shrugs. “It’ll heal. You didn’t do any media after the game. What happened?”

Oilers PR had cut off access to Connor. Hallsy promised he’d be available tomorrow. Maybe they were hoping to actually get Connor back or, maybe, after the uncharacteristic fight, they were afraid of what he was going to say.

Eichel’s gaze hardens. “He said last year was intentional.”

_ Fuck _ , Sidney thinks.

“Dumbass,” Giroux mutters, too quiet for the kids to hear.

Connor’s too shocked to say anything. He rubs his collarbone even though he’s in Eichel’s body and  _ this _ collarbone was never broken. Anger flashes across his face then defeat. He slumps his shoulders. “Fuck.”

“I got pissed.” Eichel’s cheeks flush as if he’s embarrassed. “I just wanted to fucking wreck him.”

“Thank you.”

Eichel looks up, surprised.

“You fought for me.” Connor’s quiet again. Sid remembers that feeling, the shock every time someone stood up for him. He was so used to being a target that it caught him off guard whenever someone took his side. And the fact that it was Eichel, Connor’s supposed rival, that defended him? Sidney smiles as the kids stare at each other.

Maybe, under all the bluster, they don’t hate each other after all.

“I hate this part,” Giroux murmurs.

Sid tugs at his arm, and they slip out of the room to give the kids some privacy. Sid brings his pillow with him, which Giroux eyes warily.

“One job,” Sid says.

Giroux groans. “Are we really doing this?”

“Intentional? Seriously?”

“It wasn’t intentional.” Giroux loses even a glimmer of teasing. “None of my guys would do that. He might’ve said it to get under his skin which was  _ stupid _ , but my team isn’t malicious.”

“How bad is his face?”

“He’ll be hurting for a while.”

“Good. There’s going to be fallout. Connor will have to answer for why he fought. He won’t shy away from the truth.”

“Aw, are you worried about me?”

He knows Claude is trying to piss him off, but knowing it’s a deflection tactic keeps Sid from snapping back at him. He fixes Claude with a level, no bullshit look.

“I thought you didn’t like any guy on my team?”

“You’re an exception.”

Claude deflates as if Sid’s finally managed to cut through his bluster. “It was a bone-headed thing to say. He’s lucky Lucic wasn’t there to make him pay for it. Eichel got him pretty good.”

“Now everyone thinks Connor can fight,” Sid says.

“Heat of the moment thing. I don’t think Matt Martin will be challenging him to any fights.”

Sid chuckles then winces at the thought of going toe-to-toe with Martin. He can hold his own if he needs to, and he’ll jump in to defend a teammate, but he’d rather use his hands for scoring goals.

“You think they’re good?” Sid asks.

Claude grins and taps Sid’s shoulder and Sidney turns to see the two kids in the entryway of the kitchen. “Your ears not as good as your eyes?”

“Shut up.” Sid looks at Connor and the hunch of his shoulders then the aggressive spread of Eichel’s legs. “You’ve Switched back.”

Connor flushes but says, “Thank you for helping us. I’ve called Hallsy to pick me up. We can take Eichs to the airport.”

“Thanks,” Eichel echoes.

Connor nods. “We’ll, uh, wait outside for Hallsy. He says he can’t talk to you? None of this was his fault.”

“Hallsy is Hallsy. Make sure you ice again.”

“Cluck cluck,” Giroux whispers.

Sid cheerfully whacks him with his pillow.

“Yeah, this is weird.” Eichel grabs Connor and pulls him into the hallway. A moment later, he asks, “Where are my shoes?”

“I took them off. It’s called being polite.”

Their bickering drops below audible levels. Sid and Claude stand at the island until Connor calls out a goodbye. Once the door closes behind the kids, Sid allows himself to relax. “Never a dull moment, eh?”

Claude shakes his head. He opens the fridge and grabs a pair of beers. He holds one out as Sid grabs the bottle opener. “Is this your way of trying to keep me here?”

“One beer won’t put you over.”

Sid pops the cap on each of their beers. He tucks the pillow behind his back and leans against the counter. Claude snorts. “You look like a tool.”

“Comfortable though.” Sid takes a long pull of his beer. “I can’t believe Eichel played as Connor. I’m glad we didn’t have to do that.”

“You wish you could play as me.”

Sid laughs, unable to help it. “You’d probably start a fight and lose.”

“Maybe next Olympics. I’ll fight Ovechkin.”

“As yourself. You aren’t fighting Ovie as me.”

“Where’s your sense of adventure?”

Sid rolls his eyes. They stand side by side, drinking their beers. When he’s about halfway through he nudges Claude’s shoulder with his. “I have an overnight bag in my car.”

A slow smile spreads across Claude’s face. “Presumptuous.”

“Big word.” Sid sets his beer down. He curls his fingers in the hem of Claude’s shirt and tugs him closer.

“You know what else is big?”

Claude waggles his eyebrows and Sid pulls him in for a kiss. It’s probably only encouraging him, but it’s better than listening to him talk. It’s a languid kiss, no rush even though they don’t see each other very often. Maybe it’s because this is a bonus visit, a few stolen hours.

Claude’s the one to break the kiss. “Want to take this somewhere more comfortable?”

Sid glances at the pillow wedged behind his back. “I’m good but thanks.”

Claude rolls his eyes then, before Sid can react, yanks the pillow away. He tosses it into the living room and far out of reach. “How about now?”

“You think you’re so fucking smooth.”

“Nah, I just think you’re easy for me.”

Claude smirks then hauls Sid in for another kiss before he can protest.

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
